


Captives

by fmljustlex



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Captivity, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Gen, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, M/M, Past Abuse, Slow Burn, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 01:16:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17519402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fmljustlex/pseuds/fmljustlex
Summary: He forces his eyes to meet Grindelwald’s. “Why? Why me?”“I’m sure you know, Mr Scamander, just how you’re threatening my cause. It’s the very reason that took you to New York, the first time we bumped into each other, is it not?” Grindelwald raises a brow.And suddenly, it clicks.Credence.Of course. “You captured me so I couldn’t go after him. I can’t do anything when you have us both,” he realises.~^~Post Crimes of Grindelwald. Slow updates. (Sorry in advance!!)





	Captives

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for these characters and this universe. My Harry Potter knowledge is limited (I know, I know) so please correct me if anything’s too far off (though please do so politely, and please remember it’s only a fic!). Let me know what you think and if you’d be interested in this story!

Newt isn’t really all that surprised when he’s captured. Disappointed, annoyed, slightly terrified; those are all words suitable to describe how he feels. Not really surprised, though. 

His family name is somewhat famous anyway, and he’s made quite a name for himself as of recent. He has, against his will, become quite popular. He blames his brother and he blames bloody Dumbledore, though he knows it’s unfair. He knows it’s most entirely his own fault and is sure many of those at the Ministry and Hogwarts would be happy to tell him it wouldn’t have happened if he was just _normal_ like the rest of them. If he took a place beside his brother instead of with his creatures. 

He wishes they would understand there’s nothing in the world that could make him choose that. 

It’s what makes him panic when the spell hits him. He tries to hold on to his case, urges his fingers to clench around the handle as tightly as they can, but it’s fruitless. It slips from his grasp as the world goes black. 

He’s always thought it would be the most likely reason he would ever be kidnapped. There’s nothing special about Newt himself, but he has some rather exemplary creatures. Many of them are ones he’d saved—it made sense that there were people out there who would want to recapture them. It’s why he always Muggle-proofs his case when he goes out. He hopes that anyone stupid enough to come after them would also be too stupid to figure it out. 

When he wakes up in a small room with his hands bound and his wand, coat, and case gone, it’s what immediately makes sense to him. 

Then the door opens, and Gellert Grindelwald is standing in front of him. 

Newt prides himself on being a relatively calm person, if a bit awkward. He doesn’t scare easily—or at least, not outwardly. He manages to keep it contained inside himself, pushing it down until it’s practically nonexistent. 

Though that is usually with his wand on his person and his case in his hand. Or at least somewhere he knows is safe. 

This, is quite a different situation. 

Fear seizes him without a thought, and doesn’t abate no matter how hard he tries to tamp it down. Grindelwald smiles at him, pleased, and Newt jerks uselessly at the rope around his wrists. “Why am I here?” he asks, a tiny tremor slipping into his voice. 

The man’s smile widens. “This is a safer place for you, I think. Where I can keep an eye on you. Or, more conveniently, where I don’t need to keep an eye on you.”

Newt’s eyes flicker along the floor, over the walls. He pulls once again at the bonds, wincing. He doesn’t understand. Why him? Certainly of all of them, Newt isn’t the largest threat. Unless Grindelwald expects the others to come after him, unless he’s bait. But, no, that doesn’t really make sense either. It doesn’t feel right, that idea. It isn’t why he’s here. 

He forces his eyes to meet Grindelwald’s. “Why? Why me?”

“I’m sure you know, Mr Scamander, just how you’re threatening my cause. It’s the very reason that took you to New York, the first time we bumped into each other, is it not?” Grindelwald raises a brow. 

And suddenly, it clicks. 

_Credence_. 

Of course. “You captured me so I couldn’t go after him. I can’t do anything when you have us both,” he realises. 

“Well done, Mr Scamander. That’s certainly the main reason,” the other man agrees. 

Newt’s heart picks up speed. “What are the other reasons?” 

Both brows raise this time, and the only answer he gets is, “In due time. In due time.” Then he’s leaving, what Newt assumes is some kind of guard pulling the door closed behind him. Newt is left in silence. 

The room he’s in is tiny and empty save for the rickety bed he’s sitting on. Plain stone walls, plain stone floor, plain stone ceiling. A single bulb hangs as the only source of light—no windows. The door appears to be made of heavy steel. 

Newt takes account of all of this before reevaluating himself. They haven’t actually tied him to anything, only knotted his hands together in front of him. He supposes that’s enough. Even his hands would likely be rather useless; he’s not a fighter. They’ve taken his wand. He supposes he’s lucky he’s still in his trousers and shirt. They have, though, also taken his shoes. 

Wonderful. 

He tests the rope again and, yes, it’s quite tight. There are already light red lacerations around his wrists where they dig into his skin, and he resolves to stop pulling. It’s pointless anyway. 

He lifts his legs up onto the bed and slumps back against the wall, head thumping lightly against the stone. His case, his creatures, in the hands of Grindelwald of all people. He can get a new wand. The creatures cannot simply be replaced. 

He can only pray they won’t be hurt, so he does. He convinces himself that they’re safe, that they won’t figure it out. He has to believe it. Maybe, he thinks, someone will come for them. Tina. Theseus. 

Maybe, they’ll come for him. 

He wonders, briefly, why he wasn’t just killed. It would have taken away the possibility of any complications. He wouldn’t be able to cause any kinds of problems if he was dead. When he thinks of where he is, he thinks it may have been a kinder fate. 

He flashes back to what Grindelwald said, about why he’s here. He supposes he understands the threat he poses, understands that Grindelwald needs Credence for his plans and fears losing him. He can’t risk Credence going anywhere until after he’s used him. It makes anger boil in Newt, the thought of the boy being used again. Credence is a magnificent creature with immense power, but it is not to be wielded the way Grindelwald wishes. Eventually, it’s going to kill him. 

Newt’s heart clenches painfully at the thought. 

But what other reasons are there? Whatever they are, they’re the reason he’s still alive. That’s also a considerably uncomfortable thought. 

But the fact that he’s been left alive leaves him with some chance, doesn’t it? There is a possibility of escape, however slim it may seem. There is a possibility of rescue. He can still save himself and his creatures, somehow. He just needs time to think about it. Maybe, this is the opportunity he needed to be able to save Credence as well. 

Only, he’s beginning to wonder if Credence is willing to be saved. 

He feels a tug in his hair and stiffens, but then a familiar bowtruckle slides down his nose. 

“Pickett,” he exclaims, delighted. “You clever, clever creature.” He picks him off his face and cradles him in his hand, smiling. Of course. He would’ve still been in Newt’s coat, and he’d thought to hide himself when they were taken. A little spark of happiness shoots through Newt. At least one of his creatures is safe, is still here with him. 

Still, “You’ll have to stay hidden, alright? When they come in here. You can’t let anyone see you.” Pickett chitters unhappily but hugs Newt’s thumb in agreement. Newt smiles again and holds the creature close to his chest. 

At least he isn’t completely alone in here. 

~^~

“Aurelius.”

It takes Credence a moment to realise they’re talking to him. He turns to face Mr Grindelwald, fighting the urge to duck his head. He doesn’t have to hide anymore, he reminds himself. He doesn’t have to hide here. 

He doesn’t tell the man he would rather be called Credence, though. 

“Sir,” he greets. His voice is still quieter than he would like. He hasn’t yet been able to force volume into it. 

“We have a new prisoner I think you’d be quite pleased with.” 

_Prisoner?_ Credence isn’t sure why he would be pleased with that. It makes him feel a little ill, actually. He feels like, for all his life, he has only ever been a prisoner. It isn’t something he could imagine would bring anyone any pleasure. Mary Lou never really seemed pleased about anything—it didn’t matter how many leaflets he’d handed out, how early he came home, how spotlessly he cleaned, how quietly he lived, how many lashes he endured. She was never happy, it was never enough. Maybe, when he had been part of the circus, they were pleased. He was certainly enough of a freak to bring in crowds, to make them more money. 

But after being a prisoner, he doesn’t think he could ever be pleased because someone else was imprisoned. 

He followed Mr Grindelwald because he spoke of being free. That’s all Credence has ever truly wanted. The man was so passionate about it, too. So then, if he’s imprisoned someone, it must be for good reason. Right?

Credence can’t imagine what reasoning that would be. 

He realises belatedly that he hasn’t responded, but he still isn’t sure what to say. Mr Grindelwald is acting like it should be ‘thank you’, but Credence still doesn’t know what he should be grateful for. He has the inexplicable urge to say it anyway, just to please him. 

He’s saved from having to do anything when Mr Grindelwald continues. “We have apprehended Newt Scamander. I’m not sure if you were aware, but he’s been looking for you for some time, on the order of your brother. He has an….intense fascination with powerful creatures. He posed a great threat to you, Aurelius, but he is no longer a problem.”

Newt Scamander. The name rings a vague bell in Credence’s head, a flash of bright eyes and fair, reddish hair flickering through his mind. He can’t hold onto the image, can’t remember exactly where it comes from. It makes something in Credence’s chest twitch, panicky. He can’t help asking. “Did you—did you hurt him?”

Credence doesn’t quite understand the relief that trickles through him when the man shakes his head. “He’s given us no reason to as of yet,” he says, factually, and Credence only nods. 

Then, “Can I see him?” He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. He doesn’t even know why he said them. He doesn’t know this man. There should be no reason he wants to see him. 

Curiosity, Credence thinks. The need to connect the vague memories to something present. 

Mr Grindelwald raises a brow. “Why?”

Credence’s regret strengthens. This man, though, admires confidence. Credence forces his shoulders straight and fumbles for something to say. “I just think I would like to, sir. Is it a problem?”

Thankfully, it works. The man smiles. “No problem. I will see that Mita shows you to his cell.” Credence nods his thanks and feels some of the tension ease out of him as he watches him leave. 

He turns back to the open balcony and wraps his fingers tight around the railing. His heart thumps unpleasantly after the interaction, anxiety hunching his shoulders and lacing tension through his muscles. He takes in a few breaths of the open air and urges himself to relax. 

This is probably his favourite room, the living area with the open balcony. He thinks it’s mainly because everyone else seems to have realised it and never come up to join him unless it’s necessary. Or they’re Gellert Grindelwald. It gives a false sense of freedom that he still relishes. He could leave from here. Turn into nothing and go, over the edge of the balcony and racing through the air. Only, he doesn’t have anywhere to go. 

And he’d be going alone. 

It’s the one thing that has always tainted his ideas of freedom. Ma had never liked him, had hurt him, but then he’d still had his sisters. Mr Graves had used him, but Credence can’t ignore the care he showed him, the tenderness with which he’d touched him. With the pain placed on him from everyone that got close to him, he supposes he should wish to be alone. That that should be his definition of freedom. 

Despite all of this, he’s too used to loneliness. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t like the way it makes the darkness inside him push urgently against his seams. 

It’s why he so badly wanted to know where he comes from. Why he had come here in the first place. He’d left behind Nagini, his only friend to do so. He thought that she might follow. They were alike, the two of them. Strange and ridiculed and unnatural, wrong. Alone. They were a team that had promised to help each other. Now, he doesn’t even know where she is. 

It makes his chest twinge with pain. He thought it would be worth it, that he wouldn’t regret it. That he would find his family. 

_Aurelius Dumbledore._ A brother. The rest of his family is gone, but he has a brother. 

Only, he doesn’t want Credence either. 

His fingers clench around the railing. He forces himself to remember that he isn’t alone. Mr Grindelwald took him in. Gave him a wand. Told him who he is. Mr Grindelwald cares about him, at the very least. 

A shape becomes visible in the sky, glittering like flames before landing solidly next to him. His phoenix looks down at him from where it’s perched on the railing, sapphire eyes sparkling. It ducks its head down towards him and Credence smiles, reaching up carefully to stroke the feathers. It closes its eyes, leans into his touch, and Credence relaxes further. This, at least, is something gained. He doesn’t know what he’s done that could have possibly made him deserving of such a magnificent creature, can’t fathom why it returns to him no matter how many times it flies away. It could tear him into pieces if it wanted, yet it shows him the unconditional affection he’s always craved. 

It bumps its head against his chest now and he realises he’d stopped stroking its head. He resumes with a small laugh, heart lifting as it nuzzles into him. “Sorry,” he apologises softly. The creature only nuzzles him again. 

He hears footsteps behind him and twists his head around to see Mita. He’s a burly man, and one of Grindelwald’s most dedicated followers. He’s probably a head taller than Credence, and at least twice as wide. Credence does find him a little terrifying. There’s also the fact that he never really says anything. Even now, he just stands and stares at Credence with his hands folded in front of him. Credence pets his phoenix, whispers a promise of food when he comes back, and follows the man out. 

He’s almost waiting for Mita to turn around and blindfold him, telling him he’s not actually allowed to know where he’s going. But the man only leads him silently through hallways and stairwells, getting dimmer and plainer as they go. He doesn’t need a blindfold. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to remember the way anyway. 

Mita stops at a heavy looking steel door. He pushes it open, however, like it weighs nothing; then steps aside to let Credence through. A figure moves quickly, sitting upright in the bed. Before Credence can look at him, the door slams behind him and he flinches, looking over his shoulder. Well, then. He tries not to panic. There’s a sharp intake of breath, and it takes Credence a moment to realise it isn’t him. 

“Credence?”

Credence looks towards the voice, and of course, finds a mess of red hair and lovely green eyes. They are green, he decides, even as the light shifts and they become a pale, almost grey blue, and then hazel-like, and then green again. His memory clicks in instantly then, recognition not dawning on him but crashing down with brutal force. 

The man from the subway. The one that had followed Credence across the rooftops and underground. That had stayed even when Credence was nothing but a mist of destruction and waited. That had spoken to Credence in that soft, accented voice. The kindest voice he’d ever heard. The first words it had spoken to him were assurances, that he wouldn’t hurt him, that he wanted to help. That had calmed Credence enough to rein the darkness back in. But then, he’d asked Credence permission. 

_’Can I come over? Can I come over to you?’_

No one had ever asked him such a thing before and no one has since. It had made Credence trust him instantly, had made his heart flutter with fruitless hope. He was about to say yes. He was about to ask to be saved. 

And then Mr Graves had come back. And he’d hurt him. He’d hurt the kind man, because he’d been trying to help Credence. It wasn’t surprising. Credence only ever caused hurt. He was only meant for destruction. He hadn’t been able to stop the darkness tearing him apart that time, even though he’d wanted to. Even though he didn’t want to hurt the man with the gentle voice and gentler eyes. He couldn’t even stop Mr Graves from hurting him. The darkness wanted to kill him, then, and a part of Credence agreed. A part of him screamed that he had hurt Credence and now he was hurting this man and that must have meant he was the bad one, it must have, that he’d deserve it. Yet, Credence couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

But Mr Graves had stopped hurting him, and the woman had come, the nice woman who somehow knew Credence and had a kind voice, too. It had started to calm the darkness inside. Then there was the shouting, the kind man’s voice again, and then the worst pain Credence has ever felt. 

It tore him apart until there was almost nothing left. Almost. He knows it probably should have killed him. It was probably meant to. It likely would have been better if it had. 

It took days for him to get enough of himself back to be more than a shadow in an alleyway. Then he’d almost wanted to just be the darkness again, because he’s bones ached and his veins throbbed and his whole being felt too tired, too little. He was starving and exhausted and delirious and alone. He isn’t sure how he ended up with the circus, in a completely different end of the world, but he’s sure that’s where it started. 

He comes back to the present to realise he still hasn’t spoken, and that the man is staring at him. The man that now has a name. 

Newt Scamander. 

Credence likes it. It fits, he thinks, even though he originally thought it a little strange. The man in front of him seems a little strange, anyway. Credence is a little glad of it. He’s strange, too. 

“It was you,” is not what Credence wants to say but it’s what comes out, cracked and quiet and stupid. “In the subway.”

Mr Scamander (should he still call him ‘mister’, even though he’s a prisoner? Credence thinks he should. He still has manners) smiles, and it changes his whole face. It brightens and opens it, cheeks scrunching and eyes crinkling, and he really is lovely, is all Credence can think. “You remember.” His smile falters slightly. “Well, I suppose that’s not a great thing.”

“I’m sorry,” Credence breathes. The man frowns at him. “You—you got hurt.”

He’d gotten hurt because of Credence. Now he’s here, a prisoner, because of Credence. 

Mr Scamander’s expression softens again. “That wasn’t your fault. They hurt you much worse. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop them. I—I didn’t even want to let myself hope that you’d survived, then I was told you had and that you were only in Paris and I failed you again. I’m so sorry I couldn’t find you in time. Although, I suppose it’s not as if you were waiting for me and you probably wouldn’t have wanted me to find you—“

“You were looking for me?” Credence asks, then ducks his head. He shouldn’t have interrupted. But the man was looking for him, had hoped Credence was alive. Credence feels shell shocked at the information. He has to know why. 

“I—yes. I assumed Grindelwald would have told you. It seems to be the main reason I’m here,” Mr Scamander explains. 

Credence realises Mr Grindelwald had told him that, but, “He said you ‘posed a threat to me’.” 

The man smiles wryly. “I guessed it would be along those lines.”

“But why would he let me see you?”

“You asked to see me?” The man seems genuinely and pleasantly surprised, if a little apprehensive. Credence doesn’t respond. He lifts his tied hands. “I suppose I’m not currently very threatening. Or ever, really. I’m in the business of saving and taking care of creatures, mainly.”

_’He has an...intense fascination with powerful creatures.’_

Credence shifts. Is he considered a powerful creature? A dangerous one, maybe. Cursed. Mr Graves always told him the person he was looking for was immensely powerful, though he’d thought it was a child. Yet when he discovered it was Credence, he seemed even more pleased. He seemed to think Credence was even more powerful than he’d imagined. He’d wanted him again, then. 

That had been too late though. 

“It’s why I’ve been looking for you,” Mr Scamander admits. “You have magnificent power, Credence, but there are people who would take advantage of that. Others fear it and would not think twice before hurting you.” His lips purse, his expression tightening. Remembering the subway incident. That’s what Credence is doing anyway, and it sends a shiver through him. Mr Graves wanted to use him; those people in the subway wanted to hurt him. 

“You know what I am,” Credence remembers. “You called it something.”

“An obscurus. Or you are an obscurial, yourself. An obscurus is the result of suppressed magic and a lack of love. They are no longer as common as they used to be. I’ve only met one before you—I told you, remember. A girl in Sudan. She’d been imprisoned, and she...she couldn’t control it.”

Credence’s pulse races. “What happened to her?”

The man’s expression tightens again. “She died. I couldn’t—I couldn’t save her. The obscurus usually takes over, and it’s a raw, parasitic power. It kills the host because they’re simply unable to handle it. That’s why obscurials die as children. It’s—really, you’re a miracle to have lived as long as you have.”

Credence’s heart stops. “I—I’m dying?” he chokes. 

“I sincerely hope not,” Mr Scamander says, his expression immediately turning earnest. He’s not exactly looking at Credence, though. He’s looking somewhat off to the side, his eyes averted. It’s possible he’s been doing that the whole time. Credence himself has spent a lot of it not looking at him. “It’s why I wished to find you. I’ve been trying to find out more about the obscurus, and the fact that you exist has made me more hopeful. You’ve done something to survive it so far, and I believe there must be some way of saving you.”

“I don’t—I’m sorry, I don’t really understand,” Credence murmurs. 

“That’s quite alright. I imagine it’s a lot to take in. I thought someone would have already explained it to you, though I suppose it’s not a subject many people know much about. My own knowledge is quite limited, and I’m afraid that’s all I can tell you.”

“But you...you think I could live?”

Mr Scamander smiles, and this one is different again. It’s soft and careful and still a little sad. “I do. It seems to be the dark power of the obscurus that makes it fatal. I believe there must be some way of reverting the obscurus back to its original magic, and the obscurial would be able to live as a normal wizard.”

‘Normal’ and ‘wizard’ together like that makes Credence frown a little, but he doesn’t dwell on it. He doesn’t have time. “I’ve used magic,” he says. 

Mr Scamander’s gaze lands on him now, lovely eyes wide. “Pardon?”

“I’ve done magic,” Credence repeats. “I have a wand. Mr Grindelwald gave it to me. But I’m—I can still turn into the o—obscurus.” His voice tilts up slightly on that word, making it almost a question as he fumbles over it. 

“That is...quite unexpected,” the man frowns, shakes his head. He looks pained. “If I had my notebook, perhaps there’s something I’ve forgotten, but,” he gestures around him. Well, as much as he can with his hands tied. 

Credence doesn’t say anything. He has no idea what the man’s talking about. He’s looking at Credence—or Credence’s shoulder, he supposes—thoughtfully, as if considering something. Credence has a thought. “Did they take something, when they brought you here?”

Mr Scamander nods, eyes becoming more pained. “My case. I don’t mind so much about my things, but I’m worried about the creatures.”

_‘I’m in the business of saving and taking care of creatures, mainly.’_

Creatures. Magical creatures? They must be. Credence doubts the man is referring to a litter of puppies. So he keeps magical creatures...in a case? They must be very small.

“It’s a magical case,” Mr Scamander adds, as if he can sense Credence’s confusion. “It can be a normal one, though otherwise it acts as more of a doorway. They took it and I’m—I’m worried that Grindelwald will hurt them.”

Credence’s brow furrows. “Then why are you telling me?”

The man blinks, as if he hadn’t really thought about it, or he had and the answer is obvious. “Well, I don’t suppose it makes much difference. They already know how much I care about the case and why. I can’t get it and I don’t presume they’ll give it to me but if…if I knew it was safe—“

He cuts himself off, purses his lips. “I would trust you, Credence,” he starts again. “I don’t believe you would hurt any of them. I don’t believe you’d ever wish to hurt any living thing, not really. If the case was perhaps in your care—I just, they’ll starve in there, but if they live long enough for Tina to take them, or even Jacob…” he trails off. “Do you—do you think you could get it, Credence?”

Get the case...from Mr Grindelwald? How would he even go about doing that? This man is a prisoner—Mr Grindelwald would never give Credence one of his things for no reason. And Credence doesn’t have any reason. He doesn’t even know this man, not really. Even if that gentle voice eases the tension out of his bones; even if those lovely eyes lighten something in his chest. Even if there’s no reason Mr Scamander should be a prisoner, yet the reason he is is Credence. Even though Credence feels terrible, and he irrationally wants nothing more than to offer this man help as he’d offered it to Credence. 

“I—I’m sorry, Mr Scamander, but I don’t know how I could do that. I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Mr Scamander’s expression falls, but he nods. “Of course. I should not have asked if of you in the first place. I hope you will forgive me.”

Credence’s lips part. He suddenly can’t be here anymore. “I—I should go,” he mumbles. 

The man appears crestfallen. “Credence—“

The door swings up. “Mr Dumbledore,” Mita grumbles, “Grindelwald is requesting your presence.”

Credence nods, glancing back at Mr Scamander. His expression has shifted to one of shock. Credence can’t stay to discover the reason. “Credence, what did he call you?”

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” Credence rushes, turning and taking quick steps out the door. 

“Wait, Credence—“ Mr Scamander’s voice is cut off as the heavy door falls shut, and Credence closes his eyes briefly. 

He follows Mita back through the hallways and tries to stop thinking about lovely green eyes and a case of magical creatures.


End file.
